


Guernican Perspectives

by KittyJones



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, mentions of Albert Rosenfield/Dale Cooper, mentions of Harry/Dale too if you wanna read it that way, set after s2 and before s3, some weird symbolic stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-15 22:30:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11240613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyJones/pseuds/KittyJones
Summary: It's been a year since Dale has disappeared. A year since Albert avoids Twin Peaks, a year since Harry tries to deal with the grief of the loss of his friend. A year since they haven't seen each other. A whole year. But you know what they say, it's never too late to mend severed bonds.





	1. Saturnalia

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic for this fandom. Hope you'll like it! Thanks to rainbowl for getting me back into Twin Peaks.
> 
> Title comes from this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fSLoU1CjQg0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iKDD9SoYPvg

The man is standing on the edge of a cliff. The air is hot, dry, the wind striking the man's tired face in violent gusts.

The plains behind him are burned with sun, yellow verging on red.

The man is in deep thoughts. His eyes, huge and dark and sad, are looking in the distance, past the horizon, through the clouds forming far away, straight into space, looking at the stars.

There is another man. A man he loves. A man who disappeared precisely 12 months ago, and who he misses dearly.

The man on the cliff lights a cigarette, fighting against the wind. He throws the match down the boulders, into the ocean below. Albert goes back to his car, leaves.

 

* * *

  

Harry is working. _Not a lot happening in town those days_ , he thinks. He is wrong, of course, but he doesn't know it yet. He doesn't know it.

Tonight he'll go back home, he'll make himself dinner, and he'll eat alone at his mahogany table in the otherwise empty house.

It's been a year.

He still hasn't gotten any news from Albert or Gordon or any of the agents of the FBI.

The weight over his shoulders - _his heart_ \- feels more and more painful.

 

* * *

  

A phonecall. Albert to Harry. It's almost 11pm. Harry was dozing off on his couch, in front of a movie called _Planet of Love_ , wakes up.

"Albert?" he says, because _of course_ it's Albert, waiting for the deep voice to make itself heard from the other side of the line.

But Albert stays silent.

Three minutes and a quarter pass by.

Then:

"Didn't wanna call you."

"I know." says Harry.

He knows. He knows how Albert feels about his town. About the memories. _About Dale._

They stay silent some more. Far away - just by Harry's side - the wooden clock strikes thirteen.

"I miss him." Albert says. Truman realizes his...  _friend? colleague? acquaintance?..._  probably drank a bit before calling. He decides it would be a good idea to do that too, pours himself a glass of brown beer.

"I think we all miss him, Albert" he says back. He certainly does.

 

* * *

  

Before Dale’s disappearance, Albert never remembered his dreams. He didn’t care to. He didn’t want to waste his time. But then, Dale disappeared, and Albert started having strange dreams, dreams he can’t shake off once awake.

Dreams of roses, of yellow flowers, of Dale's smile as he drinks his coffee, Dale's face slowly fading away, remplaced by the one of a white horse.

Dreams of a white casket, slowly lowered into the ground. Of death, of dark matter rising from the ground, wrapping itself around his own legs. Of fir trees, the smell of the woods strong in his nose.

Dreams about Twin Peaks, about fire, about Twin Peaks disappearing through smoke.

Dreams about sheriff Truman.

**_Not all those dreams are bad._**

 

* * *

  

Harry and Albert, inevitably, meet again. Albert usually makes a point to avoid Twin Peaks. But today, one year and three months after _Dale_ , it's Harry who comes to him.

Albert is investigating a murder near the Canadian border, when Harry shows up at the crime scene. The room's walls are crimson, and the body, still splayed out on the wooden floor, misses four fingers, two on each hand. It's not the same fingers missing on each hand.

"Albert..." Harry says.

"Harry" Albert says.

They look at each other.

"I wasn't expecting you here." Harry says.

Albert scoffs. "Me neither. Now that we went through the courtesies, let's get on with the investigation. Tell me, what does the police think about the case?"

Harry clenches his jaw. He answers. He wants to punch Albert's face again. He wants to tell him he understand his reasons, but grief isn't an excuse for being mean. He wants to hug him.

Later this day, he'll ask Albert for a coffee. Albert will look at him pointedly, then decline.

Harry knows this right now. He also knows that he'll try all the same.

 

* * *

  

Two years and eight months. Dale is still missing. Albert is still investigating his disappearance.

Bad dreams plague him like cicadas plague woods during scorching, dry summers. But he's learning to live with them, to not sleep a few days a week, to sleep so deeply all he remembers afterward is just dark, plain black, an empty void speckled with dots of light.

Sometimes, he thinks the nightmares are better. Sometimes, tired and on edge and hollow and _sad_ , his eyes linger on Harry's number on his phone. He never calls, though.

 

* * *

  

It's winter in Twin Peaks. Fog is everywhere, and snow is covering the top of the town's houses. Christmas is tomorrow. At the police station, they offered each other Secret Santa gifts the week before.

Harry is at home. He'll celebrate Christmas Eve alone this year, like last year. There is a fir in the corner of his home, naked, the dark green contrasting with the mahogany walls. He didn't take the time to decorate it. It’s been three years and two months since Dale disappearance.

On the clock, midnight is coming close. He pours himself a drink.

The phone is near him. He takes it. He knows the number by heart, down to the last digit, although he usually never presses this one down.

This time, he does.

He hears the dialling tone, heart beating too fast, too strong.

"Hello?" comes Albert's voice from the other side, calm and detached.

"Hey, it's me" Harry finds his voice too loud, even to his own ears. He decides he doesn't care. "How are you? Did you open your presents yet?"

"My presents?" says Albert, confused. "What presents?"

"Have you forgotten? It's Christmas."

A silence.

Albert sighs.

"I don't celebrate Christmas, Harry."

It's at this moment that Harry realizes. Of course, Albert doesn't celebrate Christmas. He mentally slaps himself.

"Sorry. I forgot. Of course you don't."

"It happens."

They stay silent, Harry trying to find something to say, aware he made the conversation awkward.

Albert interrupts his train of thoughts before Harry succeeds to come up with something.

"And you?"

"And me?"

Albert makes a tsking sound. "Have you opened your presents yet?"

"Oh. No. I'll do it tomorrow with my brother and his family. How is work going?"

"Fine. We're on a boring case right now. I'm not really supposed to talk about it. It's a related string of murders, the killer always leaves a paper goldfinch next to the right ear of his victims. I think the killer is the wife of the town's mayor."

Harry hums in answer. His hands are tingling. He makes himself more comfortable on his discolored brown couch, listening to Albert's deep voice. He feels more at peace than in a long time.

He realises he must have fallen asleep, because Albert is repeatedly saying his name when he regains consciousness. The telephone is lying between his head and his shoulder, the hand previously holding the phone having fallen on the couch.

"Sorry, I must have fallen asleep."

"I noticed when you started snoring" says Albert. His tone sounds annoyed, but if Harry hears well - and he usually does - there is something softer hiding inside the cutting words.

"I probably should go to sleep."

It’s not that he exactly wants to, but he has to wake up early tomorrow.

"Sure. I don’t want you to fall asleep on me  _again_. Goodnight Harry."

"Goodnight Albert."

They stay like this awkwardly for a second, waiting for the other to hang up.

"Hey, you know" says Harry, softly, before he can stop himself. "About Coop. I know you’re not the same without him. I know you’ve changed. I did too."

He hangs up before Albert can answer. The phone rings twice after that, but Harry doesn’t pick it up again.

He goes to bed and sleeps.

 

* * *

  

Albert leaves three messages after Harry hangs up. Their gist? What the hell is Harry thinking about. Just fucking pick up the phone. Why the hell would he say that and just hang up. Harry is a selfish dick. What the hell, Harry?

Then he hangs up for the last time, sighs deeply, passes his hands over his face.

If he took the time, he would understand the deeper meaning behind Harry’s words. He’s not sure he wants to.

 

* * *

  

Three years and three months: Albert phones Harry. It’s the middle of the day. He just wanted to give him an update about his case, how he was right about the wife’s mayor and _I forbid you to fall asleep on me again you bastard_. Harry smiles between two donut mouthfuls. Albert is never going to let this go.

Three years and four months: Harry phones Albert to talk about, in order, how Audrey Horne left town to go to college, how the Log Lady found a weird feathered hat, and how the Double R has included a new burger in their menu. Albert laughs and says the new burger is probably shit, like most American food. Harry knows he doesn’t exactly thinks it.

Three years and five months: Albert phones Harry, tells him about how Gordon's new hobby is fox-watching, so he went to Alaska to indulge his interest. He doesn’t talk about the nightmares yet.

Then it becomes a routine, every months, one of them phones the other, just to talk about life. They don’t talk about Dale, about his absence, but they still think of it all the same.

 

* * *

  

It’s been four years and three months, when Albert meets Harry again. It’s been four years and three months, when Albert goes back to Twin Peaks for the first time.

He doesn’t know why he does it. Maybe it’s the nostalgia, maybe it’s the feeling in the back of his mind people call instinct, maybe it’s _Harry_. Whatever it is, he decides to follow the impulse. He doesn’t tell Harry, doesn’t make plans, just take his car and go.

His fingers are wet and clutch tightly the steering wheel. He nearly turns back twice.

_I’m not a coward_  plays in loops in his mind.

When he arrives, he parks his car in front of the Double R, to drink some coffee and have a slice of cherry pie. On the menu, he sees the new burger Harry told him about. He thinks about Dale. He thinks about Harry. He’ll go to the police station after finishing his coffee, to see if he can meet the man.

The Double R’s door opens, interrupting his thoughts. It’s Harry. He looks older, of course. More tired, maybe. Yet, it suits him, gives him something that makes Albert feel lightheaded.

Their eyes meet, and Albert is clearly not the only one surprised.

"Hi" Harry says, coming to Albert’s table. "What are you doing here?"

Albert shrugs, trying to stay impassive.

"I had some business in the area. Then I wanted some cherry pie, and remembered the Double R’s isn’t that bad. So here I am."

"You should have told me."

"I had in mind to go by the station after finishing eating. Maybe. But anyway, you’re here. Do you want anything to drink?" 

Albert gestures to the chair in front of him. Harry doesn’t hesitate before sitting.

 

* * *

  

On Harry's offer, Albert stays the night. _The drive back home is long, and Albert must be tired, and I just happens to have a nice guest room at my place_ , Harry had said, and Albert had found it impossible to tell him no.

 

It’s 10pm and they're still in the living-room, still talking. They had some catching up to do. Some things just can’t be said on the phone.

Albert's sleeves are rolled up, showing his forearms, skin almost yellow in the dim light.

Harry is listening to him as he relates his last squabble with a witness, a soft smile on Harry's lips. _Some things never change._

Albert’s appearance hasn't changed that much in three years. He looks more tired, and his hair is greying, but he kept the same facial expressions, the same gestures, the same way to talk. Harry... Harry isn't exactly certain what his feelings are about it, but he sure doesn't mind it.

They are side by side on the couch, their knees nearly touching. Harry's fingers itch. He wants to run then through Albert's hair, over his face, to feel the skin beneath his fingertips. He doesn't do it though, settles instead for a short laugh when Albert finishes his story.

"You really act like a jerk sometimes, you know?" he says, to keep himself from saying something else.

Albert looks sharply at him.

"Better be a jerk than a hypocrite."

Some years ago, Harry probably would have disagreed. Now, he secretly concedes the point. Then his eyes fall on the inside of Albert’s right forearm, where he sees two long dark marks down the length of it.

Albert must catch the surprise in his eyes, because he shrugs.

"Scars. I fell from a rooftop. Interesting experience."

Harry raises his eyebrows. There is a question on his mind.

They go each to his own room shortly afterwards.

 

* * *

  

Albert wakes up early. The sun is barely up, and yet, he feels well-rested. Quietly, he gets out of the house, to Ghostwood Forest. He doesn’t tell Harry. 

 

He walks, surrounded by trees and the crunching sounds of the soles of his leather shoes over the brittle twigs.

Everything else is quiet.

There are no birds.

Albert knows where he is going, even though he doesn't know the path. He follows his feet.

The dark branches of the firs hide the rising sun, only a few light-rays touching the ground. The world is grey and brown and moss green and grey and darker grey. Albert walks.

Then, a fox, bright as a flame, its orange fur against the muted settings. It hops from left to right in front of Albert, then heads North. The FBI agent follows it. The fox is quick and nimble, flashing through the trees. Albert walks faster.

A saxophone makes itself heard in the background.

Albert has to jog to keep up with the fox. On his sides, the firs almost seem to move, getting out of his way. He almost stumbles on a root, but keeps on going. In front of him, the vivid orange of the fox bolts around in zigzags. The music gets louder.

On a corner of his mind, he notices that the trees he passes by disappear too quickly behind him, as if Albert was going at the pace of a car. He doesn’t dwell on this.

The fox is running at full speed now, running, running, its little legs almost not touching the ground. Albert still follows, breath heavy. He knows without understanding that if he loses sight of the fox, he’ll be lost.

The trees, an emerald blur surrounding him. The saxophone, deafening.

It starts snowing.

Then the fox stops. They are on a land covered by snow. No trees are in sight. No music is playing. A snowflake falls on Albert’s eye. He blinks.

When he opens his eyes again, the fox has disappeared. He swears.

Behind him, someone lays a hand on his shoulder. Albert turns around briskly.

Dale.

Dale Cooper. 

_Dale._

Albert opens his mouth. He closes it. He opens it again. He feels both very heavy and weightless.

Dale smiles kindly.

"I never thought I’d see you losing your words, Albert."

Dale's voice is gentle and his hand feels warm over his shoulder. Albert’s eyelids flutter very quickly. He lowers his head a few seconds.

When it feels safe again, Albert starts speaking.

"Where are we? Where were _you_? How…"

Albert stops, takes a deep breath. Dale pats his arm.

"Those are not the right questions you ask, Albert. You should ask "why the dreams? what is a fox? what is trapped in the scars?" But it’s not why you’re here."

Albert scoffs.

"And you won’t tell me why I’m here either, won’t you?"

He knows he shouldn’t fall back to sarcasm right now. He still can’t help himself. Dale doesn’t seem to mind though, never has, but his smile falters.

"You’re here to say goodbye, Albert."

"Bullshit. We didn’t say goodbye before, we sure as hell don’t have to say goodbye _now_."

"You weren’t in love with Harry before. You are now." Dale raises his hand before Albert interrupts him. His eyes are shining. "It’s great."

Around them, the snow has melted away, and yellow flowers are blooming.

"It isn’t great," Albert replies. "It’s shit."

"It’s not because you fall in love with someone, that you can’t love someone else too." Dale says. "And it also doesn't make you unfaithful to the memory of a former love."

 _Dale. As perceptive as he always was_. Albert’s heart flutters.

"I didn’t need your permission."

The flowers are growing, growing into fir trees. Dale looks around.

"I have to go. I’m glad I was able to see you. We’ll see each other later."

Dale raises his thumb up.

And like that, he disappears, leaving Albert alone in Ghostwood Forest.

 

* * *

  

It's nineteen past three in Twin Peaks. Albert has been missing since morning, his car still parked in the street, his coat still on the coat rack.

Harry is in his living-room, speaking with his brother about the organisation of the searches. He paces back and forth. His knuckles are white and his fists are closed tight.  _Not again_ , he thinks in repeat.

He jolts as the entrance door slams. Albert irrupts into the room, to the disbelief of the two men. Harry's fear morphs into irritation.

"What the hell, Albert?" says Harry. "Where were you? _What were you thinking?_ " It is then that he notices the needles and the mud stuck to Albert's shoes. He immediately regrets his outburst, but Albert has already started talking.

"Just in the woods," the man replies, annoyed. "It's not forbidden, is it? Anyway, I got a call from my boss, I have to go."

"Why don't you stay for a cup of coffee?" Frank intervenes, to prevent the situation from escalating.

Albert looks sharply at Frank. "And you are?"

"Frank, Harry's brother."

"Well Frank, I'm charmed, but I need to go _now_."

 Harry sighs. This isn't how he imagined Albert leaving. There are still things he wants to say. He'll have to do with this:

"I'm glad you came by. I missed seeing you."

 This is clearly something Albert wasn't expecting. His expression soften slightly.

"I'm glad I came by too."

They hug, then Albert takes his coat and leaves.

It is only after Albert's car goes around the corner that Frank speaks.

"Well, your boyfriend is truly something."

Harry blinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confused? Good.
> 
> And I have a tumblr where I reblog some twin peaks stuff and liveblog/scream about Dale's book @bonsoirami. Come talk to me <3


	2. Horizons Lointains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9BdOxmMHkXg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, I was supposed to publish this chapter last week. I was moving out, and then I had things to do, etc… Also I have no idea where has gone all the angst I wanted to write. Surely not into this work.
> 
> Still, I hope you'll enjoy reading it!

It’s been three days since Albert left Twin Peaks. Three days since Harry's inner turmoil is increasing.

He's at the police station, drinking coffee, absent-mindely classing papers. Beside him, Hawk writes a report.

Harry fiddles with the files. There is a question on the tip of his tongue.

He clears his throat, squares his shoulders.

"Hawk?" he asks. "I was wondering..."

Hawk glances up at him with curiosity. Harry clears his throat again, looking back at his papers.

"You know what? Nevermind. This is stupid."

Hawk keeps on watching at him.

Harry breaks.

"Alright, alright. It's about... About Albert. Do you think he likes flowers?"

 

* * *

  

Harry and Albert keep on phoning each other. From once a month, they go to twice, then once a week. The presence of the other, at the end of the line, is comforting. The warmth of his tone. The short breath intakes, the laughs, the sighs. The little details of the other's life, the good sides, the bad sides. All those little things brighten the days to come.

"Yesterday" says Albert, on Wednesday "I was hit again by a guy because I told him he was the most incompetent police officer I ever worked with. I wasn't even exaggerating."

"You'll never believe it" says Harry, on Sunday, three weeks later "Some tourists from the Great Northern Hotel came to complain about weird howling noises in the forest at night. They think it might be foxes,"

From their daily lives, they move on to talking about their childhood misadventures. Albert laughes when Harry tells him the tricks he did to his brother when they were teenagers, and Harry listen intently when Albert relates some of the hardships of growing up as a Jewish half-Latino kid in the suburbs. From close, they grow closer.

Calling each other is more than a habit now, like beating is more than a habit for lovers' hearts, like fluttering is more than a habit for a butterfly's wings, like singing is more than a habit for a hummingbird. It has become a part of their lives.

 

* * *

  

Albert still thinks about Dale. The edge of the memories is softer, though, less sharp, stings less.

The memories come to him at unpredictable times. Albert would be seated at his kitchen table, half-awake, drinking his first coffee of the day, when the bitter taste would bring him back to the times he and Dale ate breakfast together. Or he would be driving, the radio turned on as a soft background, when some jazz song would start playing and remind him of Dale. Or: cherry blossoms. Or: the crisp smell of pine trees.

Or, or, _or_.

 _Fuck this_ , he would then think, annoyed at himself for letting his thoughts distract that way, _you're better than this, stop dwelling on it_.

A few moments later, he would phone Harry. They wouldn't talk about Dale. Albert would make more sarcastic remarks than usual, and Harry's kind-hearted answers would chase the melancholy of reminiscences from his mind.

 

* * *

  

Harry loves Twin Peaks. He was born there, as his father before him, and his grand-father before that, and his great-grand-father before _that_ , and all his ancestors for as long as anyone can remember.

Harry loves his town alright. But since almost 6 years, since Laura Palmer’s case, the veil covering his eyes has been slowly falling down. Harry sure loves Twin Peaks but now he also can’t help himself but despise it. He spent all his life there, and maybe he was blind, or maybe he just wasn’t looking, but the fact is, he didn’t really know his own city at all. Not until a few years.

He gets the impression he can’t breathe, sometimes, like Twin Peaks’ weight is becoming heavier and heavier over his shoulders. All the lies, all the masks, the deceptions. It’s smothering him, he feels, the burden crushing his lungs and chest. For the most part, Harry still thinks he can save the town, or at least, lessen the worst of its evil. But now and then, his endeavour feels pointless, and his team’s oblivious enthusiasm seems empty.

Albert is like a breath of fresh air during those occurrences. He was the first one to notice the evil deep-rooted in the town, the first one to see Twin Peaks for what it truly is. His cynicism helps, if Harry is honest with himself. Albert knows how those moments feel, and Harry is thankful for that.

Harry remembers a time when it got on his nerves, this harsh always-seeing-the-glass-half-empty mentality, before he realized, that this cynicism didn’t mean that Albert didn’t care, that it didn’t mean he wasn’t interested in making the world a better place.

So when Harry’s optimistic nature gives way, when he feels a little too world-weary, Albert is the first person he wants to talk to. 

 

* * *

  

For Thanksgiving, Albert invites Harry to his flat. The place is small and functional and clean, and definitelty feels like Albert. Albert, who looks great in his deep blue suit, even more than usual.

Albert has almost finished cooking dinner when Harry comes in. The scent of the roasted turkey wafts out of the kitchen to the doorway, rich and inviting. It is the second fragrance Harry notices, just after Albert’s aftershave when they hug.

Albert smiles at him, wrinkles all around his mouth and eyes. "It’s been a long time. How are you? Tired by the trip?"

"No, I’m good."

They go to the kitchen, Albert having a few things left to prepare. Harry watches him fiddle with spices while they speak.

"Do you want me to help?" he says, as Albert puts on oven mitts.

Albert looks at him sternly.

"Do you know how to cook?"

"No, not really. But I can learn."

"Not tonight," replies Albert, shaking his head. "Tonight, I want to impress you."

 

* * *

  

It takes Albert only a few minutes to put the final touch to the diner. The turkey looks delicious, and Harry realizes he is, in fact, very hungry.  They go to sit around the table, Albert opening the bottle of red wine Harry brought with him.

They talk about their respective job, about the last music album they listened to, about the overly cold weather of Twin Peaks these days. Harry’s chestnut eyes crinkle throughout the whole discussion, and Albert’s smile reveal his upper teeth.

Once they finish the main course, they move on to dessert. Albert made a french _tarte tatin_. The pie smells like apples and cinnamon and caramel, the sugary cover a subtle hue of deep brown.

Harry looks doubtfully at it. He saw how Albert baked it, upturned inside the pan, the crust at the top and the apples at the bottom. The slice Albert gives him doesn’t seem too insipid - _okay, seems really tasty_ \- with the caramel slowly trickling from the pie in small rivulets inside the pale blue plate.

"I still don't get why you need all this baking-it-upside-down, if it's to turn it up again before putting it in your plate. It seems like a lot of efforts for nothing."

Albert almost rolls his eyes.

"Baking it "upside-down" as you say allows the crust to cook more evenly than a regular pie. And the apples caramelize better. The differences with a regular pie are subtle, but they’re what makes a tarte tatin a true tarte tatin."

"I don’t think my palate is developed enough to notice."

Harry takes a spoonful of pie. He blinks, then takes a second one, just to be sure. "It’s delicious," he says, with a small amount of surprise. "It might be one of the best pies I ever ate."

Albert lets out a small, proud laugh. "See. What did I tell you ?"

 

* * *

  

It’s late when they finish eating. The sun has set hours ago, and a cold, dark night has fallen outside of Albert’s flat, surrounding the small haven. Inside, him and Harry are sitting on sofas, drinking herbal tea.

It’s probably time to speak of the subject they are both avoiding.

Harry looks at Albert. 

"I used to feel guilty about his disappearance, you know. I still do, sometimes. When March appoaches."

March, the month Dale disappeared.

Albert looks back.

"You shouldn’t blame yourself," he says firmly. "If anyone is responsible, it isn’t you."

Harry’s half-smile is unconvinced.

"Thanks. I wish I could believe it. But what if I acted differently? What if…"

"Stop this." cuts Albert "Stop. This. Perhaps you could have acted differently, sure. Maybe it would have changed things for Dale. But you’re you, and you did what you did because of it."

Albert sighs. "If your actions were different, you would be another person. And I’d rather have you, even if Dale is gone, than have someone else, and Dale still here."

Harry opens his mouth, then closes it. He sees Albert’s point. He does not have an argument to counter it.

 

* * *

 

It's Sunday afternoon, and Harry is having coffee with Frank.

"I'm in love with Albert" Harry says.

Frank's eyes crinkle. "Yes you are. Why don't you tell him?"

"I don't..." Harry interrupts himself to find the right words. "I'm fine with the relationship we have. I don't really want it to change."

"You don't want to, or you're scared it would, but in a bad way? Don't you want more?"

Harry thinks briefly of early mornings he could share with Albert, coffee just made, quietly reading the news while the sun rises in the sky. He shakes his head.

"I'm not scared Frank. It's just that it would never work. Even if he loved me back, I just don't know how we could make this work out. He lives too far away, and..."

"Do you feel like your relationship is in a bad shape right now?" cuts Frank.

"Not at all, but I don't see wha... Oh. Okay. Got your point."

Harry frowns, thoughtful. Yes, maybe he would tell Albert. Maybe they could... Date. Be boyfriends. It isn't the first time the idea comes across Harry’s mind, but it's the first time he envisions it seriously. He feels too old for this, too weary and disillusioned. It’s been a long time since he dated anyone - since _Josie_.

And yet. Maybe, just maybe, Harry can allow himself one good thing, to make up for those years when he didn't follow Dale's advice.

 

* * *

  

The middle of nowhere. A bar. Night time. The stars are shining in the dark sky. The neon goldfinch over the entrance door of the bar blinks, buzzing in and out of existence.

Albert enters.

Inside, a tall silhouette detaches itself from the dimly lit background.

" **Albert**." the silhouette says. Its voice is deep, masculine, and reverberates in the otherwise empty room. Albert nods.

"Bring Cooper back." he orders, straight-forward.

" **How direct of you. Don't you want to know who I am?** "

"I already know who you are, _Jeff_. Do you think I found you by chance?"

The creature smiles. Its teeth are bright in the dark room.

" **You're bold. I like it. But you're only half-right. I am Jeff. I am the space between _Evil_ and Evil. The Devil is played by two men, and I am one of them.** "

Albert scoffs, unimpressed.

"The Devil doesn't exist. You're one of the Blue Rose cases. You can travel between spaces to the Lodges. You're the orange fox. Bring Dale back."

" **I can't, you see. This is not how it works. There is a price. Someone must take his place.** "

Albert doesn't have to think.

"Take me."

" **Not you.** " Jeff says. He gives Albert a sharp look. " **You know who.** "

"Harry." Albert's tone was supposed to sound factual, cold. It comes out angry.

" **It's the only way. A love traded for another.** "

"Go fuck yourself."

" **Then I can't bring Dale Cooper back.** "

The tone is definitive. Albert doesn't - _can't_ \- insist.

When he leaves the bar, the pink neon flamingo over the door glows brightly. Albert takes another step. The neon sign blows out.

Dark.

Albert swears, lits his lighter.

Behind him, nothing, just empty plains fading away in the night. The bar has disappeared.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, taking his shower, Albert notices the dark scars on his arm are gone.

 

* * *

 

Harry is driving. He always does this, those rare times when he feels on edge : he takes his car and drives for miles and miles, fast, the engine roaring in his ears.

He took his decision. He just invited Albert to his home next Sunday. He’s going to confess his feelings.

His feet presses on the accelerator. The forest landscape flashes past faster and faster.

A crossroad. Harry goes left, down the steep sloped road.

His fingers are wet, his forehead and his upper-lip too. He opens the window.

The air, powerful, rushes inside the vehicle.

 _I’m going to tell him, and then… And then…_ His head feels dizzy with the prospect, with the speed, with the loud noise of the wind blustering through the window. _I’m going to tell him, and then, maybe he’ll tell me he feels the same, maybe we’ll go out together._ His grip on the steering wheel gets tighter.

He feels like falling. Like his car didn’t take the right turn, and went over the cliff, free-falling into the ravin. His stomach drops. _Albert. Albert. Albert. But maybe he won’t feel the same, maybe he’ll..._

His car nears the ravine. He can see it right then. The fall. The car, like suspended in the air, plunging in slow motion toward the boulders. The acceleration, just before the crash. He’s floating just outside his own body, watching himself from above. With only one swerve, he could make it happen. He can see it, feel it. The call of the void.

 _Hypnotising_.

A loud bang, like a hunting’s rifle. Suddenly, a fox comes out from the forest and runs in front of the car, its fur a vivid orange.<

Harry stops in a hurry, the spell broken. The fox keeps running, quickly going out of Harry’s view.

A pause.

Harry runs his hands over his face, slowly, then carefully drives back to Twin Peaks. It will be a long time before he goes out on one of those excursions again.

 

* * *

 

It’s only after his encounter with Jeff that Albert realises how much Harry means to him.

He isn’t surprised. He never needed phantasmagoric creatures to understand his own damned feelings, thank you very much, but he has now the proof that he would never trade Harry for Dale, and the implications make him dizzy.

He breathes out, pinches his nose. He remembers his last conversation with Dale. Albert is still in love with him, of course. But Dale isn’t there at the moment. And he said he would come back, but he also said that he doesn’t mind if Albert and Harry…

If Albert and Harry _what_ , exactly? Got together?

Albert toys with the idea. He never really thought about Harry’s feelings for himself. He definitely had the sensation that they were flirting on more than one occasion, but then, who’s to say it isn’t wishful thinking?

Albert sighs, chases the notion away. He isn’t known for being a coward, but for once, he isn’t sure he can be as straight-forward as usual. Maybe he should broach the subject the next time they see each other.

 

* * *

 

6th of April. It's been five months since Thanksgiving. It’s the first time they see each other since Albert’s encounter with Jeff.

They are in Harry's living room, making small talk. The air is still between them, eyes avoiding the other, words ringing hollow even to their own ears. The drapes's pale blue contrasts with the deep brown of the walls.

Harry is playing with the handle of his cup of coffee. He doesn't feel like drinking it, only made it out of habit. In front of him, Albert is absentmindedly fiddling with his sunglasses. When the conversation dies, silence, tense and heavy, takes over. They both want to talk. Neither wants to be the one making the first move.

Cars can be heard driving down the street in front of Harry's house.

Albert's fiddling stops. He looks up to Harry.

"So, there is something I wanted to talk about."

He pauses, for once unsure of how to proceed.

He loves Harry. He loves to talk to him, to see him, to exchange opinions with him. The way they see life is different, but complementary, and Albert needs Harry’s optimism like Harry probably needs Albert’s cynicism. They work well together. Albert just isn't sure he can put them into words, the feelings Harry inspires him. Like free-falling into the blue sky. Like sinking into the ocean, breath taken away. Like seeing the world for the first time, every time they speak, in awe of the possibilities expanding before himself.

But he has to say something, even if it isn't as close to the truth as he'd like.

"It's been some time since we know each other. And I feel like we should… no, we could, maybe… because-I-love-you, I felt that, maybe you want the same? What I mean is, do you want to, I don't know, go out with me?"

Albert stops talking. He isn't used to this, looking for words, and he is annoyed at himself for struggling like this, at his heart-rate to be so high like this.

Harry doesn't take time to answer.

"Very much, yes, of course I want to." He doesn't know it, but the smile on his lips brighten his whole face. He continues:

"I... I wasn't sure you were too. In love, I mean. I mean, I love you too. I mean, I just..."

He doesn't finish. Albert's eyes are shining, moving to look at Harry's lips, and if anything, that's Harry's cue to kiss him. Which he does, softly, gently.

Albert’s hand moves up over Harry’s jaw, his thumb tenderly stroking the sheriff’s cheek.

After a moment, they break apart.

Albert’s lips are stretched over his teeth in a large smile, and Harry almost kisses him a second time. He clears his throat instead.

"I love you."

He says that sentence with feelings, like pouring his heart out, and yet, the words don’t feel strong enough. But he needed it, something more than the messy declaration he made just before.

Albert’s smile, if possible, gets wider.

"I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who know it, yes, Jeff is (very loosely) inspired from Richard Siken's poem "You Are Jeff", because I was re-reading it recently (as a rule of thumb, I'm always re-reading Siken's poetry).
> 
> I kinda wanted to write about the lodges, but I could never achieve Lynch's level, so… better to write badly my own bad ideas, than to write badly some else's good ideas, I guess!


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